Protective
by Jaykatt
Summary: As it might be the last chance he's got, Sherlock confesses one of his biggest secrets to John. But because of an unexpected turn of events, he is forced to stay in London and the atmosphere between him and John becomes somewhat weird. Contains JohnLock.
1. Protective

**A/N:** This is my first story in English, so if you spot any mistakes, I'll be more than happy to fix it :)

This story contains JohnLock (love between two men), don't like - don't read.

The story also contains spoilers for those who haven't seen the episode "His Last Vow", the third episode of the third Sherlock season.

Hope you enjoy :)

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><p><strong>Protective<br>**

John Watson stared at his best friend. After all the dangers they've been through, the years of solving tricky mysteries together, and this was the end of it. At a windy runway, their magnificent adventure would come to an abrupt end. This was their goodbye.

A moment ago, they had already tried to say their goodbyes to each other, but they both didn't find the right words. How do you bid farewell to the man who've saved you loads of times, both physically and mentally? Suddenly, Sherlock cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"John, there's something I should say, I've meant to say always, and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." There was a pause. John looked into Sherlock's eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking but, as always, it was impossible. He was as hard to understand as he'd always been.

"John..., I love you"

John didn't feel the cold wind finding its way though his clothes anymore. He didn't feel the gazes of his wife and Mycroft, standing by the airplane. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, and finally, he saw. He could see it all; the pain, the possessiveness, the panic, the helplessness. But above all that, a warm hint of something new to his eyes. Care.

"Sherlock, you were supposed to be on that plane five minutes ago, hurry up, will you?", Mycroft suddenly shouted, overpowering the howling of the wind. Sherlock, who had turned his head to face Mycroft, turned his head back again. Without any further explanations or confessions, he held out his hand to suggest a handshake.

"To the very best of times, John", he said in a composed and formal manner. John, whose mind had become completely numb, absently shook Sherlock's hand, unable to say anything, and watched as he scurried over to the plane and disappeared through the doorway. The plane lifted, and he was gone, just like that.

Mary walked over to John, taking his hand in her own, resting her head on his shoulder. John didn't feel the need to tell her what Sherlock had said, not that he could talk about it anyways. He was simply too stunned to even notice his surroundings. They didn't know how long they'd been standing like that, watching the plane disappearing further away, until Mycroft suddenly got a phone call. He listened to the caller in silence, and frowned.

"But that's not possible. That is simply not possible". He turned to look at John, who finally snapped out of his numbed state. He took a step towards Mycroft.

"What's happened?"

Mycroft sighed heavily and looked at the plane, which had turned into a dot in the sky. He turned his head back to John and said a sentence which sends shivers of both fear and, though very little, anticipation down John's back;

"Moriarty seems to be alive". Then he dialed a number on his phone, and walked further away to talk in private.

"But you told me that Moriaty was dead", Mary said, turning to John.

"Absolutely. Sherlock faced him on the roof of Barts, and he shot himself in the head. They found him later, when they had...when they had taken Sherlock's body away", John cleared his throat to try to conceal his voice cracking at the end of the sentence, but he suspected that Mary had noticed it anyways. Suddenly, he became aware of an engine noise that was growing stronger and stronger behind him. He turned around and saw that Sherlock's plane had come back, preparing to land on the runway again.

"With Moriarty on the loose, I couldn't risk sending away the only consulting detective there is", Mycroft said, suddenly standing beside John, with a hint of a smirk on his face.

The plane landed and the door opened.

**Two months later**

"Have you heard from Sherlock lately? You haven't been visiting him since the day at the runway", Mary suddenly said, giving John a cup of tea.

"No, I think it's best to let him deal with Moriarty alone", John replied. "I don't want to put either you or myself in any unnecessary danger, and Moriarty is definitely one of the most dangerous men I have met"

"...I suppose so, but you should really talk to him. I don't know what he said to you at the runway, but he left you looking very perplexed"

"Fine, I'll go there today", John sighed. He knew that he would have to talk to Sherlock sooner or later, but he still didn't fully understand the whole situation.

"Hello dear, good to see you! You haven't been here in such a long time. I'll prepare a good cuppa for you", Mrs Hudson exclaimed when she opened the door at 221B Baker Street. She let him in and he went up the stairs to the flat with so many memories. Downstairs, he heard Mrs Hudson prepare the tea, just like always. He opened the door, and was hit with a foul smell.

"Sherlock? 'You here?", he asked, taking a step into the flat. Nothing in particular had changed. It was a bit messier than he remembered, a little dustier, and then there was the smell. Mrs Hudson appeared behind him in the stairway.

"He hasn't let me in to clean, and you know he won't clean himself". She frowned and walked into the apartment, careful to not step on the books lying about. To put the tray with teacups down, she had to move a big pile of paper scraps from the coffee table to the floor.

"Isn't he here at the moment?", John asked, looking into the kitchen.

"He hasn't gone out. Check in his bedroom, he's probably still asleep. He's developed a bad habit of sleeping until noon", Mrs Hudson sighed and shook her head.

"Isn't he working on the Moriarty-case?"

"No, he's not. Detective Inspector Lestrade visited him many times, begging him for help, but he refused"

"Refusing an intriguing case involving Moriarty? That doesn't sound like him". John walked over to Sherlock's shut bedroom door and knocked on it. When he got no reply, he knocked again.

"Go away, Mrs Hudson, I told you to not enter the flat!"

"It's me", John shouted back. He could hear the sound of bed sheets falling to the floor and the shuffling of tired feet. Suddenly, the door was yanked open.

"What do you want?". Sherlock's face were mere inches from John's, intimidating and strangely unfamiliar. John took a step back to look at Sherlock. He was hunched, not his usual proud self. He also had stubble and pajamas that looked like he had been wearing them a long time.

"I came to talk to you", John replied, after being confused by Sherlock's lack of personal hygiene.

"Boring", Sherlock said and shut the door again.

"What do you mean 'boring'? And how is sleeping not 'boring'?", John shouted, infuriated.

"I'm not sleeping, I'm thinking"

John gave up and walked out in the kitchen. The closer he came to the sink, the stronger the foul smell became. He looked down in the sink to find a moldy mess of something unrecognizable.

"Mrs Hudson, do you know what this is?", he asked the landlady, who were throwing out old magazines. She came over to the sink, looking down.

"Oh dear! I have no idea what that could be, but we should probably not stand here and inhale it. Could be one of Sherlock's experiments."

"But he hasn't been himself lately, has he?", John asked, worried about Sherlock's condition.

"No he hasn't. It's not just the Moriarty-case he refused, he doesn't take on any cases anymore. He's just lying about in his bedroom, not doing anything"

"He said that he was 'thinking'"

"That's just a bunch of nonsense! Both you and I know that he can think just as well when he's doing mundane chores, he doesn't need to confine himself in his bedroom for that"

"So what is he doing then? Could he be planning something?", John asked, glancing towards Sherlock's closed bedroom door.

"He's probably just sulking, dear. But do come and visit more often, you haven't been here for months! Sherlock would appreciate having someone to talk to"

"Hmm... I doubt that", John said, glancing at the closed door again.

"Oh, I almost forgot, here's your tea", Mrs Hudson said, giving John a cup of, now lukewarm, tea.

"Thank's, but I don't think I'll be staying any longer. Need to get home to Mary", John said and put the cup down on the kitchen table. Then he left, despite Mrs Hudson's disappointed look.

"How's he doing?" was the first thing Mary asked when John stepped into his flat. He sighed heavily. The last thing he wanted to think about was that bloody stubborn Sherlock Holmes!

"He's doing all right, just being his usual grumpy self", he said in a bitter voice.

"Oh, I thought you two were on good terms. Especially if you compare with how his is towards other people", Mary took John's coat and hung it on the coat hanger.

"Yes, I thought so too, but that has apparently changed"

"Maybe he is just a little cross with you for not talking to him for so long"

"He faked his own death and disappeared for two years without telling me that he was alive! I don't think I'm being unfair for leaving him to take care of himself for two months, especially after he told me...", John stopped in the middle of the sentence, suddenly being very occupied by a loose thread on his shirt.

"After he told you what?", Mary asked, trying to catch John's attention.

"Hm, it's nothing", John mumbled, picking at his shirt.

"You're a very bad liar, John. What did Sherlock tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything, Mary. It's not important!", John looked up to meet Mary's concerned and doubtful eyes.

"If it's not important, why don't you tell me? Maybe what he told you is not important to you, but it is to him, and that's why he's cross at you"

"He probably doesn't care anymore. And he hates me now for sure", John pushed Mary away and sat himself down in an armchair, thinking about his favorite armchair at Baker Street. He didn't see it when he visited. Maybe Sherlock had gotten rid of it, just like he seemed to be wanting to get rid of John.

"Do you want some tea?", Mary called from the kitchen.

"No thanks, I'm fine", John replied, thinking about how much he was not fine.

"There's been a break in at Downing Street!", Mary exclaimed the next morning, while reading the paper.

"What happened? Did they steal something?", John leaned over the table in an attempt to see the article.

"No, nothing appears to have been stolen. Weird, why break in and just leave?", Mary put the newspaper on the table and took a bite of her toast. Suddenly, John's phone started ringing. He looked at the screen. It said "DI Lestrade".

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p> 


	2. Stubborn, as always

"What's happened?" John didn't even care to greet Lestrade as he answered the call, because a call from him could only mean one thing; trouble.

"Have you heard about the break in at Downing Street yet?", Lestrade asked, sounding a bit breathless. John thought that he must have been in a great hurry.

"Yes, Mary and I are reading about it right now. In the paper, it says that there's no reason to worry"

"That's the official statement. We're only saying that to keep avoid panic. But you've already guessed it, haven't you?"

"It...it does sound an awful lot like Moriarty's doing", John said, praying that he was very wrong.

"Yeah, that's what we also thought. So you probably understand why we don't want the public to know. It took a lot of time and effort to trick everyone into thinking that Moriarty's 'did you miss me?' was just a mean prank by some bloke, so imagine what could happen if people got to know our suspicions now", Lestrade said, obviously very stressed out.

"Yes, I understand that, but why in the world would you call me on this matter? I'm not particulary good at detective work", John said irritably. There was a pause and Lestrade didn't say anything. Right when John was about to hang up, he started speaking again, a bit confused.

"But I thought you knew about the situation with Sherlock. He refuses to help us, and you're the only one who have met Moriarty as much as he has"

Suddenly John remembered what Mrs Hudson had said the day before. That Lestrade had asked Sherlock for help, but that he refused.

"Well, this is utterly ridiculous! I will go to Baker Street right now and force him to help you. He is putting people's lives in danger, for god's sake!" John sighed, angrily.

"Good luck with that", Lestrade chuckled. "Give me a call later and tell me if you've been able to change his mind". He hung up, and John finished his breakfast while muttering things like 'bloody stubborn consulting detective' and 'selfish prick'.

John arrived at Baker Street half an hour later. He knocked harshly on the door. A few seconds later, Mrs Hudson opened.

"John, are you here again? I told you to come see Sherlock often, but maybe not every day". She sounded irritated, but John could see that she was secretly smiling.

"Is Sherlock upstairs?", he frowned.

"Where else would he be, dear?"

John stomped his way up the stairs and knocked harshly on the door.

"It's probably unlocked!", Mrs Hudson shouted from downstairs.

He pressed down on the handle an the door flew open.

"Sherlock?", he called, knowing that the idiot detective could hear him perfectly fine even though his bedroom door was shut.

"SHERLOCK!", he called again, walking over to the shut door. But before he could lift his hand to knock, the door was opened.

"I thought I made myself clear yesterday", Sherlock said, looking slightly annoyed. But that was all John could deduct from his expressions.

"Well, tough. Because I will talk to you whether you like it or not", John made himself clear, and before Sherlock could close the door again, he put his foot between the door and the door frame.

"I could crush your foot if I wanted to"

"Yeah but you're not going to do that. Because you, Sherlock Holmes, you are going to listen to me for once", John said, pointing accusingly at the dark haired man. Sherlock raised one eyebrow as if to say 'I'm listening'.

"You are going to help Lestrade in the Moriarty-case"

"Nope"

"Yes you are! You used to love chasing after him! You used to love chasing after any criminal at all, as long as the case was interesting! You would shout 'it's Christmas!', do a little jump, and happily follow Lestrade to wherever the crime scene would be located!", John shouted at Sherlock, not caring that he was less than a meter away.

For a long time, Sherlock didn't say anything. He just looked at John with a blank expression on his face.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?", John said, after being a bit bothered by Sherlock's lack of words.

"Tell Lestrade that he's on his own this time. And I ask you kindly to not come here again".

With those words, he shut the door. John could hear his footsteps and the creaking of springs as he got back to bed. John suddenly felt very defeated.

"I am actually worried about him", Mrs Hudson said as John was sitting in her kitchen, ten minutes later. She poured him some tea.

"I know that he is a grown man", she continued, "but he's always been taken care of by someone. Before, it used to be his brother, but since he moved here, I was the one who fed him, cleaned his flat, and did his laundry. And you has been of great help too".

"Yes, yes, I know. And I know that he's supposed to be clever and all that, but when it comes to housework or socializing, he's got the capacity of a two year old. He's not that well-off on his own".

"So would you please help him?", Mrs Hudson begged, sitting down on the kitchen chair, staring down in her teacup.

"I'm trying to, but I can't do anything if he shuts me out all the time", John complained.

"Anyways, I need to leave now. I have to tell Lestrade that Sherlock still is as stubborn as ever" he said and left.

John went straight to Scotland Yard. Lestrade told him to call, but he needed to discuss it to him in person.

"So you're here without the freak this time. That's unusual"

John turned around to see Sally Donovan with a smug grin on her face.

"I need to speak to Lestrade. Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he's right over there", she said and pointed towards the printer. Lestrade was currently trying to get the printer to work, but he failed miserably. When he felt he was being watched, he turned his head and looked at John.

"Hello John, I didn't expect you to come here. I'm actually a bit busy today"

"I can see that", John sarcastically remarked, and nodded towards the printer. Lestrade blushed in embarrassment and gave up on his fruitless attempts to get the bloody machine to work.

"Is he worse, or what is it?" Lestrade led John into his office, probably so that Donovan wouldn't eavesdrop and come up with annoying comments. He offered him to sit down, and did the same himself.

"I don't think that he's worse than he was yesterday, but his behavior is bothering me. He's never acted like that before, and his is pretty consistent in his personality".

"You mean the sarcastic comments, the insults and the witty remarks?" Lestrade wondered, frowning.

"Well, he's still a bit like that, but he's changed somehow", John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Lestrade didn't say anything for a while, then he got up from his chair.

"I think that you need to get out in the field a bit. Still got that job of yours?", he asked.

"No, it was a bit too... dull"

"I understand, and I have the perfect offer. We've been lacking in forensics lately, and with your knowledge...?", Lestrade began, knowing that John would get the hint.

"Hmm... I don't see why not", John said, shrugging. He secretly thought that it would be kind of fun solving crimes again, although it would be more fun if Sherlock were there too.

"Great, what do you say about starting now. We have a crime site in Camden, and I'm going there right now. Wanna tag along?"

"Sure"

"Where have you been all day, sweetie? You could have given me a call", Mary said when John returned home in the evening.

"I got a job", he said and smiled. He was immediately hugged.

"That's great! I'm so happy for you! Where is it?"

"At Scotland Yard. And before you say anything, no it has nothing to do with Sherlock. I just wanted to get out a bit, not sitting in a boring office all day". Mary gave him the amused smile which meant that she didn't believe him.

"So it's not because you hope that he will come back and solve crimes with you? Why don't you just talk to him?", she caressed his arm and looked like she was pitying him.

"I've tried talking to him! And no, I honestly don't think that he will drop his weird attitude and help Lestrade just because I'm working there now", John frustratedly said.

"Maybe not. Congratulations to the job!", Mary said, changing the subject. She hugged him again, although it was a bit tricky because her big belly was in the way.

"I want to spend more time with you though. The baby could be on its way any day now", John said an smiled. He looked into Mary's eyes, the woman who loved him so much. And he loved her.

"Don't you worry about me", she stroke his hair. "Worry about your grey hairs instead", she chuckled and went back to the living room. John muttered something about that he definitely didn't have any grey hairs.

A week passed and John was doing his best to adapt to his new job. The job itself wasn't very tough, but he had to work with Donovan and she kept making irritating remarks. He had already known that she wasn't really a fan of his, but he thought that her constant sarcasm was getting ridiculous.

"So you're here again? 'Thought you couldn't work properly without that freak hovering around you."

"Donovan, stop it already!", Lestrade snapped. But John knew that it wouldn't help. Donovan could finally pick on him, without getting quick retorts from Sherlock.

John sighed and continued to examine the body lying on the ground. The only information he was able to get without an autopsy was that he had been a male in his 30's, been of good health, that the cause of death was by choking, and that he had died around noon at that same day. The peculiar thing was that he was lying in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and further investigation showed that he had been put there after his death. And that, very shortly after he was put there, he was found by a group of teenage boys. The police had been interrogating people throughout the whole day, and they watched the security camera tapes from all the shops nearby, but no one saw who put the man there, and the security videos didn't show anything either. It was like he had appeared out of thin air.

"Have you found anything else?", Lestrade asked, quietly begging that John would have found the answer to mysterious case.

"No, sorry. Molly should take a look at him, maybe she will find something".

"All right. You're free to go home now", Lestrade gave John a tired smile and walked over to the rest of the police force.

"Mary, I'm home", John called when he came home. He waited for a few seconds, but he got no answer. He felt the panic fill him like he was showered in ice cold water, and he ran inside the kitchen, not bothering to take his jacket off.

"Mary?", he asked again, not finding her anywhere. He ran into the living room, but still no sign of her. Finally, he found her in the bedroom, fast asleep. He looked at his watch and shockingly realized that it was half past midnight. A pang of guilt hit him as he realized that she had probably waited up for as long as she could, before the fatigue took over. He looked at his phone, and true enough, seven missed calls from her. He had shut the phone off, not wanting it to bother him in the investigation, but he couldn't have imagined that he would be working so late. Before walking to the kitchen for a night snack, he kissed her forehead and quietly promised her that he wouldn't do something like that to her again.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I made you a cuppa", Mary gently woke John up the next morning.

"Mhghh", John mumbled in an attempt to greet her a good morning.

"I let you sleep in today, because you came home so late yesterday. And it's Saturday anyways", she gently stroke his forehead.

"I'm so sorry for not calling you. My phone was shut off", John sat up, grabbing the cup of earl grey tea, quietly sipping on the hot beverage.

"I fell asleep quite early anyways", Mary said, but John could tell that she was lying.

"You're pregnant, I'm the one who needs to take care of you, not the opposite", John gently kissed her before getting up.

"No, of course you need to be at work. Or you'll get fired", Mary took the empty tea cup from him and put it on the bedside table. "There was something I was supposed to tell you", she pondered.

"What?", John asked as he got dressed.

"...I can't seem to remember. Must be the pregnancy-hormones talki...oh, right! Mrs Hudson called yesterday night. She said she needed to talk to you about something" John looked up, suddenly worried.  
>"What's happened? Did she say if it was urgent?", he asked, his trousers only half-way on.<p>

"I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with Sherlock, somehow", Mary looked just as worried as John felt.

"...But I won't go there now. I'm sure is not that serious", John said, after a few seconds of thinking. He had promised Mary that he would take care of her and spend more time with her, so he couldn't run off every time there was something else going on. She could probably sense what he was thinking about, because she said:

"John, I really don't mind. You've known him longer than you've known me"

"Yes, but he's not my wife!", John immediately regretted his choice of words, because Mary chuckled heartily, just as anyone did when a relationship between him and Sherlock was implied.

"All right then, but you could at least give Mrs Hudson a call, because she seemed a bit worried", she walked out of the room, taking the teacup with her.

"Hudson", Mrs Hudson answered with a steady voice.

"Hi, it's me, John", John replied.

"I'm so glad you've called! Did Mary tell you to?", Mrs Hudson immediately sounded a lot happier.

"Yeah, but the only thing she said was that you called because of Sherlock."

"Yes, I'm very, very worried about him", she answered, her voice trembling a bit.

"What's he done now?"

"Yesterday afternoon, he went out. He said that he was going to buy some milk. But he hasn't come back since"

"What?!"


	3. Thinking about him

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your nice reviews, and thanks to all the people who have read the first two chapters, it really means a lot to me!

And sorry for making John and Sherlock so cross with each other :P They will get along later, promise :)

Hope you enjoy :)

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><p>"But did you go look for him or something? Did he act strange before going out?", John asked, a quickening stream of panic flowing through him.<p>

"He's a grown man John, I thought that he would be able to find his way back to the flat without my help. And isn't going out to buy milk a very strange thing for Sherlock to do?"

"That's it. This is the last of his daft shenanigans! I'm calling Mycroft", John said, sternly. He knew that the only person who could really make Sherlock listen was his brother. He usually mentioned somebody called Redbeard, but John had no idea who that was. It sounded like some sort of code or a made-up name.

"But dear, we really shouldn't bother him. He probably doesn't know where Sherlock is either", Mrs Hudson doubtfully said.

"Mrs Hudson, Mycroft is the government! If Sherlock is still in England, Mycoft knows where he is!" John was quickly losing his patience, being very eager to punch Sherlock in the face as soon as they would find him. He hung up and dialed the number to Mycroft. Before he could hit the 'call' button, Mary spoke.

"Are you calling Mycroft now? Is that really a good idea?"

"Christ, why is everyone against the idea of calling the missing persons brother?", John threw his hands up in the air to act out his frustration.

"As you know, they are not the best of friends. And isn't this Sherlock's normal behavior?", Mary carefully took the phone from John, looking as if she was afraid that he would throw it across the room. She put it on the kitchen counter. Then she walked over to John, slowly embracing him.

"Don't worry about Sherlock. You don't have to babysit him anymore", she said in a soothing voice, muffled by his sweater. "Everything is going to be alright, just focus on your life now."

* * *

><p>"You look a bit tired", Greg remarked the next morning.<p>

"Thanks", John replied, sarcastically.

"Sorry, meant nothing bad with it." Lestrade took a sip of coffee and dragged himself over to his office and closed the door. John sighed. There was not much for him to do this particular day. Molly was still investigating the bloke they had found the other day, and John preferred not to bother while she was doing her job. So all that was left for him was to hang around the office, waiting for someone to go mental and become a murderer. He sure as hell hoped that he himself wouldn't be that 'someone'.

"Tired, are we?" Anderson asked, bothering John with his mere existence. John just looked at him patronizingly.

"I know, I know, it's not really fun sitting around here all day. You could go help Molly", Anderson said, probably trying to apologize for the fact that he was an offensive git. Or so John hoped at least.

"Don't want to bother her"

"She probably gets lonely, you know."

* * *

><p>So there he was, sitting beside Molly as she intensely watched something through a microscope.<p>

"Is there anything I can do to help"? He asked politely.

"Not right now, thanks", she said in her soft voice, not even looking up from what she was doing. He thought that it would be weird to stare at her, so he got up from his seat and walked around in the lab.

"Could you fetch me a petri dish?" Molly broke the silence so suddenly that John did a nervous little jump.

"Sorry", she said, shyly smiling. John gave her the requested item and the awkward silence was once again back.

"Have you-"

"How is-"

They both looked at each other for half a second, trying to let the other speak.

"You first", John offered.

"I-I was just wondering how Mary is doing. With the pregnancy, you know"

"She's great, really. The baby is coming any day now, but she is really well".

"That's nice to hear. What did you want to say?", Molly fiddled with the petri dish, dabbing a cotton swab on it.

"Have you seen..., no, never mind." John changed his mind. Worrying wouldn't do any good. Molly looked at him, as if she understood his situation, and then she turned her eyes to the petri dish again.

"You can go home if you want to, there's nothing interesting to do here anyways. The police don't catch many killers or find many victims nowadays", Molly said. John immediately knew what she meant by 'nowadays'. She meant the latest months, without _him_.

"It's nice to keep you company, though", John said, sitting down again.

"Thanks. Not many people bother", she smiled at him.

"It was Anderson's idea, really." John decided to give Philip the credit for this one.

"That's thoughtful of him. I didn't think he cared."

"So how's things going with...ehm...Tom, wasn't it?"John felt a bit embarrassed for not remembering Molly's fiancees name.

"Well, we broke up. It wasn't working." Molly looked helpless, and defeated. John was sincerely sorry for her, because she really deserved happiness.

"I'm sure you'll find the right one", he tried to cheer her up. She looked up from the experiments and looked the former army doctor straight in the eye.

"I already did. But he doesn't love me", she said.

And suddenly, John's thoughts wandered to the place and time he tried to forget. The windy runway. Sherlock's eyes full of care. The quick pounding of John's heart as he had tried to guess what Sherlock was thinking, but it had been impossible as always. Sherlock's baritone voice saying the words that had haunted John's dreams ever since. The words that John would never even dream about coming out of Sherlock's gorgeous mouth. 'John..., I love you'.

"I...I'm sorry, but I have to go", he said, heart pounding as if he was experiencing a nightmare.

"Okay John, see you", Molly said. She obviously saw that something was wrong, but she didn't mention it. It was between John and Sherlock. It was _always_ between John and Sherlock.

* * *

><p>John stumbled out of Barts. Unintentionally, he looked up at the roof, as if expecting to see his best friend standing there once again. Just the thought of it made his knees weak with fear and powerlessness. Without thinking, he phoned Mary.<p>

"Hi sweetheart, what's the matter?" Mary knew that John would only call her in the middle of work if something was seriously wrong.

"I...n-no, not really", John said, coming to his sensed. Surely, he couldn't tell Mary what Sherlock had said on that fateful day.

"John, don't let him bother you when he's not even around!" Mary definitely knew what was up.

"I'm outside of Barts", he said, his voice cracking at the end. He really wondered what was wrong with him, because he definitely didn't cry a lot.

"Come home instead, you know what that place does to you." Oh yes, he knew. Looking over at the spot where he - a few years earlier - had hovered over his friend's dead body feeling very devastated, he felt his head turn foggy and his hands tremble. He was really losing his grip, wasn't he?

"I'm on my way", he said with a flat, emotionless voice, and hung up. Then, he took a taxi home.

* * *

><p>"Sit down and rest, sweetie", Mary welcomed him home.<p>

"You are pregnant!", John protested.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Now, sit down."

John reluctantly did as she said because, ex army doctor or not, when Mary gave him orders he would do as she said. Mary strolled in with a cup of earl grey; John's favorite.

"Now", she sat down, "Tell me what's troubling you?"

John exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know what's troubling me", he said in a strained voice. Mary smiled at him and urged for him to continue.

"...there's something wrong with me", John finally said. No, he didn't say it, he whispered it. He was hoping that Mary wouldn't hear, but she did, of course.

"There's nothing wrong with you", Mary fondly said.

"Oh but yes, there is. How is it that every time I hear that bloody detective's damn name, my world comes crashing down because I'm afraid he's done something incredibly stupid again? Why do I even care, he's not part of my life anymore? He has moved on, and so should I!"

"Shh, okay John, it's okay, you don't have to shout. Sit down, please", Mary hushed and walked over to her husband, gently pushing him back into his comfortable armchair. John hadn't even realized he had been standing up.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled.

"It's alright. And it's normal behavior to worry about one's friends."

"Now you're just sounding like my psychotherapist."

"But it is, I can assure you. I phoned Lestrade, he will be here in a few minutes", Mary said, very rapidly.

"You...you did what?!"

"John. My dearest, sweetest John. You need to talk to a friend, an old friend. Not your wife", she smiled and patted him on his healthy shoulder.

"He's my boss!", John snarled.

"And your friend."

* * *

><p>"So you're saying that you phoned me just to go have a pint with John?", the DI raised his eyebrows in confusion.<p>

"Why not?", the army doctor's wife smiled wholeheartedly at Greg.

"Alright, alright. We'll be off then", he turned to John, who put on his coat and made his way out the door.

"This better be worth it!", John whispered to Mary as Greg called for a taxi.

"It is, now, off you go", she hugged him and went inside again, closing the door behind her.

"You're a very lucky man, you know that?", Lestrade asked, holding the cab.

"Yeah, I know"


	4. What's his real motive?

**A/N: **I am so sorry for the wait! I can assure you that I didn't abandon the story, but my old computer got stolen and the insurance company took their time with providing me with money for a new one :( But now I have a new computer and I'm able to continue writing! So without further ado, here's chapter four for you.

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p>"It's actually very nice having a night out. I've been piled up with work lately", Greg said as they settled at a table in the corner of the room. The bar they had found was quite small, but very noisy with many young people dancing and ordering drinks in the green-and-blue strobe light. John felt a bit out of place among all the students, but didn't tell Greg as he had been the one recommending the place.<p>

"Have you found the killer yet? You know, the one who disappears", John asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Sadly, no. It really is a very perplexing case".

They got their pints of beer they had ordered, continuing to chat about the case.

"Do you suspect it's Moriarty? We haven't really heard much from him since he came back", John all but whispered. You never knew with Moriarty; him or his henchmen could be anywhere.

"At least I won't rule it out as a possibility, but you have seen his doings before and even you have to admit that this is really not his style"

"He likes to show off", John agreed."Besides, he already scared the wits out of everyone when he broke into Downing Street. If that was him, of course", he pondered.

"Let's stop twaddling on about work, we're here to have fun!" Lestrade said briskly and downed the rest of his pint in one go, already raising his hand to order another one.

* * *

><p>"...then Anderson fell over the reeling and dived right into the fountain! I can tell you that I laughed for hours afterwards, especially when he got yelled at by the caretaker of the park!", Lestrade laughed. John also laughed, almost falling off his chair in the process. Hearing Lestrade's old anecdotes were utterly hilarious, especially since so many of them seemed to include Anderson or Donovan making fools out of themselves. They were down to five pints each and were feeling rather tipsy. John stood up only to almost trip over his own feet.<p>

"I'm going to the loo" he announced, sweeping his eyes across the room to find the symbol that indicated 'lavatory'. He found it and forced his way through the crowd of people to get there. Upon opening the door he quickly decided that the alley behind the bar would probably be a better alternative, since it might not contain snogging people. Or maybe it would, there was only one way to find out. He, once again, elbowed his way through the wall of people to get to the door, not bothering to tell Greg about going outside. Outside of the bar stood a couple of people, smoking. John nearly fell on one of their feet.

"Hey, watch where you're going!", the teen said, taking a step back. John mumbled 'sorry' under his breath and continued walking to the back of the bar. The only light was provided from a lone street lamp, flickering in the chilly night. In the corner of his eye he thought he saw the shadow of a man, but when he turned no one was there. In his drunken state he couldn't really care less, so he went on with doing what he had to do, obscured by a skip. Suddenly, his phone buzzed, but he was to intoxicated to take notice of it.

* * *

><p>"I almost thought you had gone home", Greg complained when John had come back from washing his hands in the, now unoccupied, lavatory.<p>

"There were some damn kids occupying the loo so I had to go outside", John muttered. He checked his watch. It was 2 am and he had sobered up well enough to feel the need to go home and sleep.

"Maybe we should go home now", he suggested.

"I agree", said Lestrade and smiled.

They went outside and it had started to drizzle. Small drops of ice cold water hit John's cheeks as he tried to hail a cab.

"This bloody weather", Lestrade mumbled. All of a sudden, John's phone buzzed again. This time, he took notice of it. He read the first text.

_It feels like I'm having contractions so I'm going to the hospital to check it out. But it's probably nothing, so you should stay with Greg and I hope you have a nice night out. You need it._

_Love, Mary._

John's heart raced as he opened the second text.

_I'm starting to go into labour now, so if you could come to the hospital I would be very happy!_

_Love, Mary._

"Bollocks!", John exclaimed. Greg jumped at the sudden swearword.

"What's happened?", he asked.

"Mary's gone in to labour! I have to be there now!", John waved at yet another cab, but it was occupied and rushed past them. Suddenly John felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He spun around fast as a cobra, ready to maul anyone who came in his way.

In front of him stood a tall, suit-clad, dark-haired man. He opened his mouth to say something, but John interrupted him.

"No. Just...no. Your timing is seriously horrible and I advise you to go home and clean your flat. We can talk later today".

With those words John turned around and sat down in a cab Lestrade had managed to hail. He looked out at Lestrade, who looked bewildered.

"If you don't come with me you'll have to hail another cab", the ex-military said.

"Right". Lestrade climbed into the cab and Sherlock looked at the cab in puzzlement as they drove away.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?", John asked as he plunged into the hospital room where he was told Mary would be.<p>

She sat upright in the bed, holding a wriggling bundle of cloth. She looked up at him.

"I'm so sorry, but you missed it. But here she is". She handed the bundle to John and he looked down at the little girl in his arms.

"She is beautiful. Just like her mother", he smiled, kissed the little baby's forehead and noticed that she already had hair. Small streaks of dark brown. Suddenly she started to cry and he had to hand her back to his wife.

"She doesn't really look like you". John jumped as the voice sneaked around from behind his back. He turned around and saw Sherlock leaning at the door frame.

"Who let you in?", he asked, more in confusion rather than anger.

"Really, John? I let myself in, of course", Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it was blatantly obvious.

"And what did you say about my daughter? Of course she looks like me!", John was really too tired to deal with Sherlock's mannerisms at the moment.

"It was nothing, forget about it", the consulting detective said, trying to swat away John's stupid questions. He stepped further into the room and sat down in a visitors chair. "Hello Mary. Congratulations", he said, like he hadn't seen her when he entered the room.

"Thank you, Sherlock", she answered coolly.

"I'll be going home now, but I need to see you at Baker Street at 3 pm, John", Sherlock said and left without waiting for John's reply.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock! Open the door", John knocked at the door to 221b Baker Street but nobody opened. And he was on time.<p>

"Hello, John". John turned around to see Sherlock standing at the stairway. He pushed himself past John and unlocked the door. To John's happy surprise the flat was actually not as horribly unkempt as it had been on his last visit.

"So why did you invite me?"

"We need to discuss this", the detective said and showed him a folder with police-and forensics reports.

"Aren't those from the crime scenes I investigated?", John looked confused. "But I thought they didn't have anything to do with Moriarty. Like Lestrade said; it's not his style".

"And since when has Lestrade ever been right? And the style depends on who Moriarty hired to do the dirty work", Sherlock explained, sprawling out on the sofa like usually. John sat down in his old armchair, secretly happy that Sherlock still had it.

"But what was his motive? How are these murders linked? Other than the style, of course", John considered putting the kettle on, like he used to, but a quick look at the kitchen made him change his mind. At least Sherlock hadn't stopped experimenting with foul-smelling substances.

"You're asking the wrong questions! The real question is; what was he trying to hide?" Sherlock said, in his dramatic way of explaining his theories.

"He did all this to try and hide something?"

"Naturally, it's blatant! There's been very many 'Moriarty-style'-crimes lately, right? That's because he wants to distract us from the real crime. Everything else that's happening are just decoys"

"But how can he be so daft as to think that he can distract you?", John asked, without being able to stop himself.

"I'm flattered, but I have to be much more cautious than I were before. He's been hiding months and months without me noticing, he was proving that even I couldn't find out what he was doing", Sherlock studied the case files carefully as he was talking. All of a sudden he looked at John.

"Any of the places or people he attacks could be his intended goal. We have to find out which one it is before he gets to it".

"And how do you know this is not another plan to trick you again. Maybe his intended goal is you", John reminded him. "Besides, I have to take care of my daughter. I can't run off to solve cases with you anymore, it doesn't work that way". Suddenly Sherlock seemed to have adapted a troubled expression.

"John, if a huge secret is being kept from you, would you want me to tell you even if it would hurt to know the truth?", he abruptly asked. John stared at him for a couple of seconds before answering.

"That depends. It's not about Mary's past, is it? Because in that case, I don't want to know".

"No, it's not about Mary's past", Sherlock replied. "It's about something happening in the present time, and even as my area of expertise isn't emotions, I am certain that you will become very sad or upset if I tell you", Sherlock looked down at his hands instead of at John.

"Please tell me anyway, the truth will hurt more if it's kept hidden", John said, determined. He was tired of secrets, and any pain the truth might cause him would subside eventually, whereas a lie would not subside unless someone told him.

Sherlock looked up into John's eyes.

"John, the baby is not yours".


	5. Baker Street

**A/N: **As always, I am very grateful for your comments and views, and if I could I would hug you all!

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p>"What?! Sherlock, if this some kind of sick joke, I swear I'll-", John angrily sputtered, but was cut off by Sherlock.<p>

"I'm so sorry John, I really am, but I'm telling you the truth"

"So you're telling me that you-", John realized with horror.

"What? No!"

"Stop cutting me off Sherlock! Are you telling me that you had sex with my wife? I thought you were my friend!"

"No, I did not have sex with Mary", Sherlock explained calmly.

"So this is just your plan to get me to dislike Mary then?", John asked, dubiously watching Sherlock.

"Why would I do that?", Sherlock asked, looking puzzled.

"Because you lo...", John suddenly fell silent. Sherlock looked at him, suddenly understanding.

"John, no matter how I feel about you, I would never try to trick you into disliking Mary. Believe it or not, but I want you to be happy even if that means you will stay with Mary" Sherlock said, looking truly honest. John didn't say anything in along while. Abruptly, he turned around, walked into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water, not caring about the stinking mess on the sink. When he came back to the living room a while later, he held a steaming cup of strong tea.

"Continue", he said in a strained voice, sipping the tea gently. Sherlock had to hold back a smile at the familiar sight.

"You know already that Mycroft has control of every single CCTV-camera in London. One day he saw Mary with some guy who wasn't you. And it's been going on for a while now"

"Are you monitoring me and Mary?", John snarled.

"I'm not monitoring you, but I wouldn't be surprised if Mycroft is. So I took the liberty of collecting some DNA-samples from you and the baby, and it shows that you aren't her father. Sorry".

"Wait, you took DNA-samples?! How did you do that without me knowing? No, actually I don't want to know", John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Continue", he muttered.

"That's all there is to tell", Sherlock said but his eyebrow made an almost unnoticeable twitch, which, John knew, meant that he was lying.

"There's more. Tell me", John said warningly.

"I know who the father is. You know him too", Sherlock all but whispered. John urged for him to tell him, but Sherlock stayed silent.

"Oh God, it's bad, isn't it? Don't tell me it's Greg!", John already felt betrayed, whoever it would turn out to be.

"It's not Greg, it's Mike Stamford", Sherlock looked at John compassionately. John just stared back.

* * *

><p>"Do you want a cigarette?", Sherlock asked as they walked out of the bar John and Lestrade had visited the night before.<p>

"I thought you had quit", John mumbled and pushed the offered cigarette away.

"Just because I usually use nicotine patches doesn't mean that I don't smoke anymore", Sherlock said and lit the cigarette.

"I have to talk to Mary", John said while trying to not get smoke in his face.

"I said so before, but you insisted on going out drinking instead", Sherlock remarked. John pulled out his phone. The display showed that he had three missed calls from his wife.

"I told her I would be home at seven and now it's ten. Will you be going back to Baker Street?", John sighed.

"I could go with you and prevent you from throwing things if it gets bad", Sherlock said, not entirely able to keep his serious facade.

"Haha", John said sarcastically. "You can come with me but, with all due respect, keep your mouth shut. You'll probably just make it worse".

"I wasn't going to say anything", Sherlock mumbled and followed John into the taxi he had hailed.

* * *

><p>John took a deep breath and opened the door. Mary immediately came rushing, looking worried.<p>

"Where have you been? You said you would be home at seven! I thought something had happened to you!"

"Mary, we need to talk", John said, quietly. He intended to handle it as calm as possible, it would be better for both of them. Mary looked from John to Sherlock, and then to John again. Suddenly her breath hitched and she realized.

"John...", she whispered. John only gave her a stern look and showed her to the living room. He asked her to sit down in the armchair as Sherlock and himself took the sofa.

"I guess you already know what I want to talk to you about", John started. "So apparently you have been cheating on me", he continued, feeling a lump starting to form in his throat - more from anger than from sadness, but still a bit of both.

"Yes, and I am so sorry John. I really am". She looked apologetic but after all the lies she had told John, he felt that he couldn't trust her anymore.

"I want to know why", he said.

"It was before you got to know about my past. I knew I would have to tell you and I was certain that you would divorce me when I did, so I sort of gave up on our relationship. And then Mike came along, and suddenly I was pregnant. I swear that if I had known that I was pregnant with Mike's child I would never have married you, I didn't want to cause you any pain", she looked down, not wanting to meet John's eyes.

"Well, I hope you understand that I don't want to be married to you anymore", John said coolly. "I really trusted you Mary, I think I proved that to you when I didn't feel the need to read about your past. You broke that trust and hurt me. I will file for divorce and send you the papers. Goodbye". With those words, John stood up and walked out of his old home. He turned to Sherlock.

"I guess we'll be working more on the case tomorrow. See you then", he said.

"What? But where are you going?", Sherlock looked as if he wanted to reach out for John, but he restrained himself.

"To a bed and breakfast or something", John mumbled, checking his wallet and wondered how much the cheapest b&b would be.

"If you want to, you could come back to Baker Street. Your old room still contains your old bed. I don't think there's much to in the fridge though, so we would have to order take-away", Sherlock said and pretended to look at his phone at the same time. John always knew when he was pretending.

"Sure, I guess I could do that. But I don't want to be a bother, are you sure it's okay?", he knew that when Sherlock had adjusted to his own habits he weren't likely to get rid of them, and John thought that the detective might as well have created a life of his own while he himself was living with Mary.

"I'm confident that I will be able to adjust", he smiled.

* * *

><p>"John, what are you doing here this early?", Mrs Hudson asked. She had gone up to make Sherlock his morning tea, only to find that John had already put the kettle on. John didn't want to upset her, but he knew he had to tell her about his and Mary's 'row'.<p>

"I...I'm not living with Mary anymore", he said, trying to conceal as much detail as possible.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry!", Mrs Hudson exclaimed sympathetically. "If it's of any consolation, I'm very happy to see you here again, even though the circumstances are woefully", she patted him on his good shoulder and smiled.

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson", he said and smiled back. Suddenly Sherlock stepped into the kitchen, wearing one of his usual suits.

"Good morning", he said. "Is that my morning tea?", he pointed at the cup John was absentmindedly holding.

"It might as well be", John said and handed the cup to the detective. He took a sip and burned his tongue, judging by his pained cry. Mrs Hudson sighed with happiness and scuttled down the stairs again.

* * *

><p>Both investigated the case files as they drank their tea. Sherlock got a text from Lestrade.<p>

"He says he wants us to come down to the Yard today or tomorrow to summarize what we have concluded so far".

"That meeting will be over quickly", John snorted and looked at the notes he had made so far;

_Moriarty uses decoys to hide his true goal._

"We will have to work considerably faster than we are doing now if we are to show Lestrade that we've actually made some kind of progress", Sherlock said and chuckled.

"You don't seem worried"

"I don't get worried easily. It's not good to worry and try to deduce at the same time".

"You don't seem to get hungry easily either. Are you sure that you don't want any toast?", John asked and reached for the bread bin.

"I'm not hungry", Sherlock muttered. John frowned, but let it go.

"Take a look at this", Sherlock said and handed his phone to John. Mycroft had sent Sherlock a picture from a CCTV-camera. It looked like any busy London street.

"What's so special about this?", he asked and tried to hand the phone back to Sherlock, but he wouldn't let him.

"Are you more daft than usual? There, in the corner, on the wall of that restaurant", Sherlock pointed. John squinted and saw that someone had sprayed light blue words on the wall;

_Need a hint? -M_


	6. Cab ride

**A/N: **Again, so sorry for the delay. I love you all for being able to put up with my inconsistency, and I love you all for reading this story. Here's chapter six for you.

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoy :)<p>

"It's Moriarty, isn't it?", John asked when Sherlock put the phone away.

"No, the M stands for Mycroft – of course it's Moriarty", the detective spoke sarcastically. "He's showing off again, proving that he doesn't need to hide from me".

"Good, that means that he'll make a visible mistake and we'll catch him", John concluded.

"He's not stupid, John. He is as likely to make a mistake as I am"

"Which is... not very likely?"

"Not very, no", Sherlock muttered, texting Mycroft back.

"It was nice of Mycroft to send you that picture", John tried.

"He's only trying to flaunt his power", Sherlock scoffed. Well, at least John had tried.

* * *

><p>John considered updating his blog. He hadn't done that in a very long time, and he had probably lost a lot of readers, but updating it still felt reassuring. He reached for his computer.<p>

"You're not serious, are you? We have barely even started on the case, you'll have nothing to write about", Sherlock looked up disbelievingly.

"How did you...", John started, but decided to ignore it. "So how do we continue with the case?"

"We'll have to go to the place in the photo and examine the graffiti. Judging by the facade on the buildings it's probably somewhere close to Hyde Park, so not a very long distance from here".

* * *

><p>"Seriously! They've already cleaned it up! And Mycroft sent me the picture less than an hour ago!". Sherlock looked as if he wanted to punch the brick wall.<p>

"Maybe Moriarty's men cleaned it up. They only left it here long enough for you to see it"

"Thank you very much John, but that is already clear as day!", Sherlock growled irritably. "Why would he write 'need a hint?' if he doesn't even leave me the spray paint as a clue?"

Sherlock studied the brick wall closely, looking for rests of the spray paint. He took out a small magnifying glass and carefully scraped off a sliver of brick.

"I'm going to run some tests on this and hopefully there will still be rests of paint", he proclaimed and put the sliver in a small plastic bag. To John it really just looked like a tiny piece of brick, but apparently Sherlock saw potential clues on it.

"How could someone spray this and leave without being seen by the camera?", John asked and glanced up at said camera. It occurred to him that Mycroft could be watching them. And that he probably was, that nosy git.

"It only takes pictures every 60th second", Sherlock mumbled while examining the ground in front of the wall. "I'm not getting anything else out of this, let's take this to the lab". The detective stepped away from the wall and looked at it one last time before turning around to hail a cab.

* * *

><p>After half an hour of Sherlock examining and John tea drinking, the detective cried out in excitement.<p>

"Discovered something?", John asked, looking up from his phone.

"Indeed I have! Not only rests of spray paint, but also tiny cloth rests. Whoever Moriarty hired wasn't very good at covering up their tracks", Sherlock chuckled, sounding like a child on Christmas. John didn't understand his enthusiasm.

"I understand why the spray paint could serve as a clue, seeing that there aren't that many brands of that kind of paint. But clothes? Won't that be very hard to distinguish?"

Sherlock shot him a look of disappointed and irritation, and then he proceeded to thoroughly ignore his question and continue with his work. And after a few more minutes of silence John gave up with a sigh. He sat back down in the uncomfortable wooden chair and sipped his tea.

"How's it going?", Molly all but whispered, cautiously entering the room as to not disturb in the research.

"I believe some progress has been made, although the consulting five year-old over here is not really sharing his discoveries", John muttered. He strongly believed that both him and Sherlock were much too old for this kind bickering. Despite that, he didn't want to be the first one putting his pride aside.

"...I'll just leave you to it then", Molly dubiously smiled and backed out of the room.

"Consulting five year-old", Sherlock looked up and raised one of his eyebrows questioningly.

"Can you or can you not trace the cloth rests to the culprit?", John stared intently into those steel blue eyes.

"Thank you for having confidence in me", Sherlock scoffed. "I _have_ actually done this before. The cloth is made of a cheap material from a clothing store close to where Moriarty's message was written. It's a mix of 90 percent cotton and 10 percent polyester. There are rests of the chemicals used for dying it, but they are faded and suggests that the piece of clothing is old or well-worn. Small traces of men's cologne can be found on it. Thanks to my knowledge of different colognes and perfumes – stop giggling, John – I can determine that it's of a cheaper kind. This indicates that even though this man leads quite a meager life, he makes an effort to look his best. I would say that his height is about 178 cm, judging by the height at which he sprayed the message. And if you can stop pestering me with your ridiculous questions for just a couple of minutes I will be able to extract the culprit's DNA from the skin molecules I found", he said very quickly and returned to look through the microscope. John had to bite his lip as to not exclaim "brilliant" or something ridiculous of that sort. And he did actually shut up and continued with sipping his tea.

* * *

><p>When the two of them walked out of Barts some time later, it was with great confidence. Sherlock had successfully managed to extract DNA from the evidence and it led them to a poor factory worker whom had been convicted of a couple of minor crimes before.<p>

"He's most likely just an underling without actual contact with Moriarty, but that doesn't mean that questioning him wont lead anywhere", Sherlock said as they climbed into a cab.

"It's the only lead we've got anyways", John thought out loud. "Where is his flat located?".

"Near Ravenscourt park", he looked at his watch. "And we're lucky because he isn't there at the moment, he's at his day-job".

"His day-job?", John wondered.

"Yes, doing Moriarty's dirty work is obviously just something he does on the side, therefor his night-job. His day-job is at a factory in the other side of London.", Sherlock shot John an insufferable look as if to say 'really, John, really?'.

"So, how are things?", John asked in an attempt to change the subject. At first Sherlock looked bewildered, but soon caught on.

"I would deem that you know me well enough by now as to not try to actually do small talk. But fine, things are fine really. Nothing more, nothing less", Sherlock shrugged uncharacteristically

"That's good. Have you been occupied with other cases? I mean, because you haven't really been accessible to either me or Lestrade".

"I am fully aware of that you have been chit-chatting with Mrs Hudson and she did most likely tell you to 'knock some sense into him, because he has been spending far too many days locked away in his bedroom'. And yes, I overheard most of your conversations. The walls are fairly thin".

John thought of how badly he actually wanted to knock some sense into him, or at least knock him, at that particular moment, but he decided against it. A sulking consulting detective was a difficult consulting detective. Well, more difficult than before anyways.

"I'm glad that you decided to get out a bit more, too much wallowing in bed is not good for you", John said, trying to sound a bit more composed than he actually was.

"Says the man who put me in that position in the first place", Sherlock muttered, just loud enough for John to hear it.

"Excuse me, what?! It's not my bloody fault that you felt like sulking for two months!"

"I was NOT sulking, I was thinking", Sherlock objected turning to John with exceptionally fiery eyes.

"Of course you were, because the genius Sherlock bloody Holmes can only think properly when he's locked away in his room! Don't even bother to lie because you know that I'm not buying rubbish like that! You were definitely sulking, although I have no idea why". The cabbie cast a worried glance at the two men but John ignored him, not lowering his voice.

"You have no idea why? I already knew that you're not really born to deduce, but you're usually not this daft", Sherlock murmured darkly, suddenly looking more smoldering rather that fiery.

"We can't all be geniuses, Sherlock", John said scornfully, trying not to show how much he had been hurt by the comment. Sherlock looked at him for a moment, before the fire disappeared from his eyes and was replaced by something soft.

"I'm sorry, John. That was very inconsiderate of me". John could have sworn that the softness in Sherlock's eyes was regret.

"It's true, though. I am really daft, aren't I?", John chuckled, but wasn't really able to sound unaffected.

"No, you're not daft. I wouldn't lo..., like you if you were", Sherlock smiled, a genuine but sad smile.

"Is this about...that? Y'know, what you said earlier, at the airport", John asked and suddenly Sherlock stopped smiling. He looked away quickly.

"Oh look, were already here. Let's get going", he said and jumped out of the cab, leaving John feeling odd and confused.


	7. Danger

**A/N: **Thank you everybody for reading and reviewing, I'm so incredibly grateful! Sorry for the amount of sulking Sherlock is doing in this fic, but they're finally talking things through.

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p>John stepped out of the cab and into a completely normal and calm residential area. Not where he would be looking for criminals, but if it was one thing Sherlock had taught him it was that criminals could be found anywhere. The shop down the street, the lovely old couple next door, and even your own wife, apparently. John gritted his teeth at the memory, trying to shake it off of his mind. They had to look for evidence. He looked around for Sherlock but he was already way ahead of him.<p>

"Wait up!", he shouted after the detective, waving his arms to catch Sherlock's attention. He knew they had to sit down and have a proper talk somewhere where Sherlock would be unable to run away, but that would have to wait until they had some real lead to Moriarty.

"He lives here, flat 4C", Sherlock said when John had caught up to him.

They managed to sneak into the stairwell and crammed themselves into the tiny and, according to John, not completely trustworthy elevator. It made a rattling sound as it very slowly ascended through the empty stairwell. John shuffled towards the mirror in the back of the cramped space as to not ram into Sherlock when the elevator suddenly came to an abrupt stop. The doors creaked open and they stepped out onto the stone floor.

"So you're just going to knock on the door asking if you could search his flat?", John asked dubiously.

"As I already told you, he's not home. Do try to keep up", Sherlock sent John a condescending look. Then he took out a lock pick and started to work on the door.

"I have a feeling Lestrade wouldn't approve of this", John chuckled.

"If I needed his approval on everything I would just sit at home and London's criminals would be running amok", Sherlock said and the lock opened with a loud click. They stepped into the flat. It smelled faintly of baked beans.

"He only left half an hour ago", Sherlock said and sniffed carefully. "There is a slight smell of hydrogen peroxide coming from that cupboard", he then said and pointed at one of the green painted kitchen cupboards. He opened it and rummaged through it, finding a blue t-shirt.

"This belonged to his last victim, a woman in her thirties. There are faint bloodstains along neck and the killer obviously tried to remove them, but failed".

"Right, we can leave now then. Let's just give Lestrade a call and he'll pin the murder on this man", John said and started to leave. He was stopped by Sherlock grabbing his arm.

"No, it's much more important to pin this on Moriarty, and find out where he is hiding", he said and continued to search through the flat. When he came back to John he only held a piece of paper.

"How is that a lead to Moriarty?", John asked hesitatingly.

"Maybe it isn't, but it's a copy from a note in the murderer's calender. He's meeting someone at the small café down the street at 10 this evening. It might not be someone from Moriarty, but I've got a feeling that it is", Sherlock said and started to form a text to Lestrade.

"You've got a feeling? You don't believe in solving crimes through getting feelings and hunches or trusting your gut", John laughed.

"No I don't but why would this man, a seemingly ordinary man if we overlook the fact that he's a murderer, write a coded note in his calendar?", he asked and held the note out to John.

"It's only a bunch of nonsense", John shook his head at the collection of letters that didn't form any coherent words. "How do you know he's meeting someone?"

"It says so right here", Sherlock looked at John and sighed when John showed no signs of comprehension. He pointed at the letters. "Every second letter is part of the actual note, the other letters are just nonsense, as you so eloquently put it. When you have the letters that are part of the actual note, you need to further decipher each letter by replacing it with the letter in front of it in the alphabet. I don't understand why he thought this would puzzle the police, even Anderson could figure this one out".

"Right", John mumbled and they left the flat.

* * *

><p>John almost exclaimed 'bored!' but then realized that Sherlock probably would think that he was mocking him. But, truth to be told, he was bored out of his mind. They had been sitting in the alley beside the run down café for two hours without anything happening. Even Sherlock seemed ready to leave when they suddenly spotted the man who's flat they had broken into. He was standing outside the café, talking to a big, rugged man who seemed very annoyed.<p>

"Is that our man?", John whispered.

"I would believe so", Sherlock whispered back. Soon enough, the man made his way back down the sidewalk with John and Sherlock carefully trailing behind him. The sun had already set so the risk of them getting spotted was not very high. The man walked a few blocks and then entered a warehouse.

"We should locate another way in", Sherlock mumbled and disappeared into an alleyway, jumping onto a dumpster and in through an open window.

"Right", John sighed and tried to do the same thing, only with more bruises and mumbled swearing.

* * *

><p>"Shh!", Sherlock shushed John and pressed a hand to his mouth while dragging him behind some barrels. John furiously tried to bend Sherlock's hand away from his face, but to no avail.<p>

"What?! What's going on?!", John tried to ask, and apparently Sherlock understood him.

"Don't. Make. A. Sound.", he whispered quietly, close to John's ear. John tried to squirm away, to get a good look of what was happening, but Sherlock stopped him and looked him in the eyes.

"John, I need you to trust me. Please, stay here until I say it's okay for you to move. These guys are too many, we can't handle them ourselves", he whispered so quietly that it was hardly audible. His warm breath against John's ear made him a bit calmer. As long as Sherlock knew what he was doing they wouldn't be in too much trouble, right?

A sudden gunshot and a scream made John breathe a quick rush of air and he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock could see a tiny bit of what was going on through a gap between two barrels and he shook his head at John, signaling that they couldn't move from their hiding place just yet.

A couple of minutes later, the place was cleared out and they could stand up. There was a man lying on the floor in the middle of the room. John entered doctor-mode and took four steps through the warehouse to get to man. He quickly concluded that the man had died from internal bleeding from being beaten up rather than being shot, seeing as the bullet only had grazed his upper arm.

"John, I have sent a text to Lestrade and he will be here shortly. Let's go home", Sherlock said, unusually quiet.

"Aren't you going to look for clues?"

"I saw several of the men who were here and at least two of them are in the criminal records. It won't be hard to locate them"

"Okay, sure, we can go home if you want to", John said, feeling that something odd was going on.

* * *

><p>"All right Sherlock, what's going on? Normally you would happily take on an army of criminals without a thought of them being 'too many'. And you would definitely not leave a crime scene and give Anderson the pleasure of investigating it instead", John was actually more concerned for his flatmate than he had been all the time when he had been sulking away in his bedroom, not bothering to eat. He looked up at Sherlock as he was wandering back and forth through the living room, refusing to sit down and discuss things with the doctor.<p>

"Sherlock, are you even listening?"

"Yes I am! It was stupid of me to drag us both into danger just because I was too eager to solve the case!", Sherlock exclaimed, kicking a stack of newspapers across the room.

"...Sherlock, please calm down and sit", John said and pushed Sherlock's favorite armchair towards him. The detective rolled his eyes but sat down.

"Now, what's that all about? I apologize for saying this, but you haven't been acting like yourself for the past weeks", John tried to smile reassuringly but it felt more like a grimace.

"I'm acting like I always do, John. Don't say something preposterous like that", Sherlock moved to stand up again, but John stopped him.

"Sherlock, please. Tell me what's wrong, just this one time", John asked pleadingly. He hated it when Sherlock seemed to suffer in silence and refused to tell him what it was that bothered him. It made him feel like he was a worthless friend.

"I shouldn't put you in danger like I did today", Sherlock said quietly. He didn't look at John.

"What do you mean? You've always been okay with us running into danger"

"I used to be, but I don't think you understand. John, you always seem to rely completely on me to fix the situation whenever I've made a miscalculation or a wrong deduction. You seem to think that I have some kind of superpower that allows me to save us from every bad situation we're put in. But it doesn't work that way. One day I'll make a mistake, even more horrible and unfixable than the one on the roof at Bart's or the one with Magnussen, and maybe I won't be able to fix it"

John was stunned at his flatmate's words for a moment.

"Sherlock, I know what I'm doing when I'm throwing myself into danger with you. I can assure you that I don't rely on you to fix everything, even if you're the clever one"

"But what if I got you killed? What if I couldn't save you?", Sherlock exclaimed, staring into John's eyes.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take", John replied, sternly.

"Well, I'm not", Sherlock said, just as sternly and just a tad more stubbornly.

"I'm not some damsel in distress, a maid that you have to keep from harm! I was in the bloody army!", John stood up to his full height and was prepared to storm off into the kitchen and make himself a cup of tea at any moment, because this was really too much for him.

"That's a good reason for it to not happen again. You got shot in the shoulder. Where will it be the next time?", a hint off bitterness had crept into Sherlock's voice, even though he just looked... worried. John sighed and sank back into his armchair.

"Sherlock, what's the reason for you saying all of this? This is nothing like you, because you know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, even in dangerous situations"

"Because the guilt over the danger I put you in after the roof at Bart's and after Magnussen was eating me up. I can be responsible for my own life, but not for yours", Sherlock looked defeated.

"So the reason for you saying this is because you would feel guilty if I was harmed? Sherlock, I don't think-"

"I would also never forgive myself if you were harmed. I wouldn't be able to live without you. I wouldn't be able to eat even if I felt hungry, I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I felt sleepy and I wouldn't be able to breathe even if my lungs ached for oxygen. I thought that my life was good before I met you, I thought that I was doing all right. But then I met you, John, and realized that my life before you isn't even worth calling a life. I realized that I couldn't be without you"

John didn't know what to say. Sherlock's words rattled around in his mind but didn't find a grip. Did Sherlock really mean what he thought he meant? Was this still about the things that had happened earlier that day or was this something deeper?

"...You're not just talking about today's events, are you?", he asked in a thin voice.

"No, I'm not", Sherlock answered in his deep baritone.

John steeled himself.

"Then we'll need to have a proper talk".


End file.
